


Pints of Ash

by LyrebirdArvo, WhiskeyTick



Series: Pisica Vagaboanda: Pict [2]
Category: Runescape (Video Games)
Genre: Alcoholism, Also I Guess Some Other Cannibalism In The Background, Buried Alive (Undead?), Cannibalism In A Sense But With Cremation, Canon Divergence, Character Death, Death Rituals, Gen, Hypothermia, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Pica, Schizophrenia Written By Schizophrenic, Sliske's Debilitating Sweet Tea Addiction, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26555818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyrebirdArvo/pseuds/LyrebirdArvo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiskeyTick/pseuds/WhiskeyTick
Summary: Year 169 5A (54)Sliske prepares for the 18th Ritual. Pict's job contract is extended to encompass attending it, to his own detriment.
Series: Pisica Vagaboanda: Pict [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1840735
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Pints of Ash

## Sliske

I hummed the half-remembered chorus of a polka as I worked the shovel; the task was monotonous, which helped to take the edge off of my quivering hands. 

And my shoulders. 

And the rest of me.

If I had to slog through slush and low temperatures that bordered on certified torture, I was going to indulge myself for it, and the drink I had chosen was worth some overstimulation.

After patting a final large mound of snow over the latest temporary grave, I planted the shovel upright, fell back into the chair I'd brought along for the sole purpose, and uncapped the thermos whose frigid metal lid cut through my gloves.

"Cheers, darlings," I murmured before filling my mouth until my cheeks pouched, recapping the lid, and slowly letting the cloying sweet-mint syrup water trickle down my throat.

_Disgusting. It's delicious._

A handful of Zemouregal's decomposing broav rooted through the snow nearby, with a dark-robed minder caught between them and the hopeless task of trying to keep them vigilant.

I waved. The minder waved back, after an awkward hesitation.

_Yes, I’m looking at you. No, don't come over here. He doesn't pay you enough for this, does he? I wonder how people get into that situation. You wake up one morning and decide you're going to work for a necromancer who lives in the middle of nowhere. Is it lust? Do you sweat over Zemouregal? I would understand that. It's certainly not because he's giving you good pay. He hasn't known how to handle coins since the Second Age, and even then he didn't exactly get it any better than the rest of us. I've probably eaten more coins than I've spent. And I used them properly with Drakan, the once, so that's probably saying something. Though Trin was more who dealt with the actual logistics of that transaction. I don't remember how much that was. Or where we got them from. The wreckage, probably. I haven't eaten as many coins as I've eaten paper slips. But both of those were to make a statement, really. I need a statement piece. It's so hard to coordinate when you're forced to make up for the weather. Gielinor is so cold. We could have picked out a nice island to meet on, or a place in the Kharidian, but no. Ice and snow. Whose idea was it? I asked for years but I don't think anyone ever answered. I should start asking again. Maybe they'll still be alive for me to throttle._

I found myself staring at an empty stretch of snow, and registered that the broav had probably been spooked by each other, because the cluster was now stampeding much further down the plateau with the minder in hot pursuit.

_Run._

I stretched, then went limp again, and watched the sky churn with fragments of odd colors that I'd been told, plenty of times, weren't there. Whirls like an impressionist's feverish attentions, a hasty patchwork that held the world together at broken seams, the warping of the details of a dream.

_When several people see it, it's called an aurora. When only I see it it's called a 'visual processing abnormality' and 'delusions of color symbolism.'_

I took another swig.

_Jealous because my existence is more fantastic. I'm bored but not boring. I can be boring if they make me, but it's so dull. Maybe I shouldn't even attend this one. I enjoy seeing them, but everyone at once? Terrible. This drink is terrible. The most horrible thing the gnomes have ever decided to mix together. I'll need another thermos for tomorrow. Two, one won't get me through it. Maybe I can force through the crash. Existing is so inconvenient._

New movement caught my eye. I sat up so I could squint at whatever it was properly.

White armor glinted with the same harshness as the snow, and if they hadn't been wrapped up with gold foil edges and blue wool cloth they might have had a good gamble on camouflage. They pushed a crate between them, and acted like they were looking for something.

They didn’t seem to notice me.

_You could look over right now. I'm not exactly hiding. Raise your little alarm at the demon, come shouting to me about blue boy. Oh! No. Really? No, they have helmets on. Hard to see out of those. Why none of us ever wear them. Must be a shame to have the center of your nervous system there. Or a centralized nervous system in the first place. Imagine not being a federated chain of magic and misconceptions. Imagine having to wear a helmet. Don't humans die if you punch them in a specific spot on the nose? Dharok did that once. I'll have to ask him once he's not so up to his ears._

I glanced down at the snow patch.

_In over his head. Probably has a brain freeze. Maybe he shouldn't have tried to eat the snow while I was filling him in. It's not medically recommended._

One of the figures in the patrol of knights broke away as they wandered off in pairs across the plateau. Unlike the rest of them, he was alone. He also was the only one with a signature. 

I waved Wahisietel over, grinning. "Ah, my littlest brother!"

He wore his usual human skin and an unamused, exhausted look that his flat tone mirrored perfectly. "What are you doing."

I gestured at the snow, kicking an extra clump over to one of Guthan’s protruding horn tips. "Having a wonderful day with my boys."

“Of course you are.” 'Ali' ran a hand across his cheek. "You're going to lose one of them like that."

"I know exactly how many wights I have at any given moment."

"Is that so."

"There are six - seven - here to start with, and when we end there will be... Mm. Hm." I planted a heel down in the direction of where I knew a certain hooded head was concealed. "I mean, I wouldn't mind losing Ahrim, but there will still probably be seven by the end of things. Maybe even eight, who can say?" I offered him the thermos. "Sip?"

"No."

"You're no fun."

"Neither are you."

"Maybe we just have some different definitions of fun."

"Amazing."

I took another swig, this time swallowing it directly, and received a fresh tightness in my chest for the hubris of it. "Now, what are you up to? Did you convert and not tell me? You know I'd want to walk you down the aisle, or whatever happens when you sell your mind to the Dominator."

"Please don't call Saradomin anything even vaguely. Like that. I don't want those images. And no."

"Business?"

"Business. We've made camp in Ghorrock. They've been fed the idea that they'll be exploiting us into handling Leukien, which I suppose isn't the worst of half-truths. Azzanadra is-"

"So Azzan _is_ back. I had no idea."

He gave me another pointedly exhausted look, and I hummed a short note as I suddenly felt very interested in the clouds overhead.

"He mentioned that you visited him almost as soon as he started his restoration project."

"He sent that filthy little long-haired man to one of my doors."

"And I'm sure between the two of you, you both made him regret every ounce of that decision. And every decision surrounding it."

"I only found out _after_ he'd come and gone. It seems we're just ill-fated. Our stars are crossed, never to meet. I'll only ever hear about him from you, or in regional papers that happen to list their nightly drunk tank occupants."

"Mm. You've worked with less."

"I have, I have.” I leaned to the side. “Also, I think your nestlings are lost without you."

He looked over his shoulder, sighed, and readjusted himself. "Three commanders, but each from different factions, and not a lick of sense between any of them."

"Run and sort them, darling. I'll come to see you latest tonight, I'd like to hear all about your latest shit show then. I'll find whichever tent is yours, don't bother to leave it open."

"Of course you will."

_You can't ever hide._

I watched him pick his way back across the plateau, his robes flapping in the wind, his flock none the wiser.

* * *

## Pict

It was fucking cold, and I wanted to be anywhere else than here.

I hadn't gotten any decent sleep, I was two bottles deep, and at some point I must have buried myself under unused tents or extra bedding material.

I could still taste ash in my mouth, even though it had been, Days. Weeks.

_Could’ve gotten out just fine on my own. Could’ve just let me do one of the few things I can do semi-reliably. But no, gotta careen your asses in. Get burned up, again. Crandor, again. Cy. Cy, you fucking dumbass moth. You fuckin’ piece of shit._

I nursed the last of the latest bottle, half of it trickling off into my beard.

_But we'll double your pay, Wizard Vasović. Standard guild rates. Isn't that fucking fantastic. You'll be able to shove all of these Saradomin-minted coins right up your ass._

Ali had shown up, at least, and subtly shoved Thaerisk, Idria, and Akrisae out of the way by actually running things. I'd enjoyed that part.

I also probably would’ve forfeit the job ticket if he hadn’t.

_Get to at least look at his weird ass before I die in the middle of gods-fucked nowhere._

The rest of the camp had started to stir, but it wasn't until one of the knights roughly shook out my makeshift nest without a second glance that I actually got up. I didn't have the energy to protest.

_Fine._

I tossed the bottle into one of the food crates, rummaged for a replacement, and teetered off to find Ali’s tent.

He'd had a similarly long night, by the look of him. Haggard, still in bed like he was nursing a very obvious hangover. Probably three feet taller than when I'd last seen him, with less hair and a guarded, black-eyed squint that said something like 'well shit I thought I had the flap closed better.'

I curled up at the end of his cot as he started to hastily change his skin, helped myself to the smell and warmth of his blankets, and tried to block out the light.

"I don't care. I do not care. You could not pay me to care. Just don’t fuckin’ move me until we leave."

* * *

## Sliske

I slumped back in my relocated chair, shadow wrapped around my body like a scandalous shroud, puppet-strings hooked in the fingers of my off-hand. Something to toy with as I took in the pre-Ritual crowd of... Four.

The recreation of the ritual marker made a pitiful attempt at being the head of the plateau, its black-glass eyes watching over the entrance to a shallow mouth filled with long, sharpened spikes. It might have been a torture device fitting any definition of the phrase, if it had any kind of restraints.

_Looking at it is torture enough._

I traced my eyes down to its base, and _did_ enjoy where its curves fuzzed with the sky and melted into rippling patterns.

Zemouregal, seated nearby on a crudely raised cube of snow, was sporting some new long shawl; black, cut down to his knees, with grey embroidered swirls. He and Enakhra were deep in conversation, and judging by her hand gestures, she was explaining something. A statue or building? Last I had heard she had struck up with dwarves, so it was probably relevant to them.

On the opposite side of the way, Akthanakos looked even more miserable than I felt. He was gaunt, that pseudo-skeletal appearance that suggested he wasn't in the best of health - I pressed a thumb against my own hollow cheek curve - and he held one of the heated orbs from Ghorrock in a tight embrace around his midsection.

_See? He understands. It's far too cold. Was he here last time? I don't think I saw him. Not the time before that, either. Suppose he was caught up in something. It's not like I could have just missed him in the crowd._

I laughed in my chest and cracked open a fresh thermos.

_Oh, but I must have! There's just so many of us._

Not that everyone who attended was everyone who was left. Old traditions died hard, and we had all been through two thousand hells.

I looked to Hazeel next, where he stood at the top of one path off the plateau with his arms crossed. Khazard had stormed down a good half hour ago, that dog of his and his gaggle of bruiser lackeys bounding after his heels in the exact same way.

So the only people left are Azzan, and Leukian, and... _Oh, there he is._

Wahisietel had been forced out of his persona at some point, but the White Knights and Guardians of Armadyl were still behind him, so they'd probably gotten over it.

He held Khazard in a vice grip around his upper arm, half dragging him up the slope as he marched, the dogs behind him with tails - physical and metaphorical - between their legs.

A shove sent Khazard stumbling up the last few steps and into Hazeel, who took over with several sharp words in the old language.

"[Did I / have I] [cultivated / reared / maintained] [you] [in this fashion / way]? [Is this what you have been doing while I have been] [missing / gone / absent]? [Did your] [carvers / sculptors / makers] [etch / write] [mistakes / foolishness / fuck-ups] [into your] [not-exactly-bones]? [Do I need to] [remind / re-teach / re-carve] [you] [about our] [agreement to stop killing each other]?"

_It had been getting ridiculous._

_When did we make that agreement? Late Third Age? Early Fourth? Fourth sounds right._

He only stopped when he registered the humans wrenching away, the way they were clutching at their helmets, and Wahis' patented sigh of a face.

 _"We'll continue this later._ \-- Hello, Wahisietel. Yes, Bouncer, hello. Sit. _You,_ Khazard. Over there, where you've abandoned the rest of your soldiers."

_Always such a nursemaid. Surprised Khazard's elbow isn't permanently set crooked. Is it? I've never actually looked at his elbow. Maybe it is. Do we have elbows? I don't think I do. We probably don’t._

They returned to their spots while Wahis and his entourage finished trickling up and across the snow. They found their way close to where my spot was staked, most of them clustered in that boring rectangular formation they loved so much.

Wahis eyed my chair out of the corner of his eye, then where my heels were imprinted in the snow, then back to my chair again. I kicked a bit of snow towards his shoes. He nudged some back, then acted like he hadn't.

No one in this crowd was as thunderingly loud as Hazeel always was, probably because nobody else lived in a sewer with the opposite of good acoustics, but I was close enough that I could still overhear them as they pestered Wahis. One in particular, close to the front, excitable and dressed more like a mismatched ice-pastel apothecary than a monk.

"Ali-"

"It's fuckin' _'Wahisietel'_ now you piece of shit," slurred a half-awake voice.

I could see Wahis' shoulders drop half an inch. The voice responded to that as if he'd said something.

"He can get it fucking right."

"He isn't wrong, but thank you. Continue, Akrisae."

I frowned to myself as I took another long drink, rolling the voice around. Light, like he spent half his life whining. The way he treated consonants was clipped, like I typically heard in Morytania, with that tendency to drop off on ends that people closer to Phasmatys had when they still had vocal cords. He didn't sound exactly right for there, though. I couldn't entirely place him.

But it was so familiar. I'd heard him somewhere before.

I shrugged it off and went back to listening, swirling the thermos so I could watch the horrid contents ripple.

"- it is, traditionally, a way to gauge who stands strongest against adversity. Finding pillars. Occasionally, someone wouldn't survive the tasks."

_And we have the clause for that._

"You think this Lucien will make a spectacle of himself here, then, which is why you’ve been so sure he’ll come!" declared a different voice, much more demanding of attention than 'Akrisae''s. 

I found the lilt charming, but would probably throttle him within an hour.

"... Something like this, Tiffy, yes. I will ask that you all continue to follow my lead. What you see may to you be unacceptable, but may not be for you to interfere with."

_'Let the adults handle business until you get tossed into the field as distraction fodder.' I see you there, brother dear._

Leukian was late when he finally arrived, as usual, and by then I was on the second canister which was doing nothing to prevent my body from being clutched in a paradoxical agitated languidness.

A stitched-together band of undead trolls, human knights, and Sieshir demons who were probably only bound there by the old pacts of the Legio XI shambled in his wake. Two demons acted as oxen for a low cart that cut heavy ruts in the snow, bearing a familiar burden.

_‘Like carbon pressure-melted to diamonds, so too had rune essence been compacted into a plated not-orb. A generous portion of its outer rock casing had been chipped away like a geode, which left the bottom to cup it at an angle. An amplifier, worse than what was now called the Frostenhorn because of its ability not only to enhance, but to store magic like a battery._

_A troublesome, destructive battery, that fed off whatever was near it.’_

I shooed the romanticized versions of old missives out of my head, irritated that I could even remember what the paper looked like.

"By the gods, he _has_ got the Stone!" Tiffy helpfully pointed out to his helmeted colleagues, who probably couldn't see that far.

"I wasn't fuckin’ lying," muttered the voice that was now even further along towards incoherency.

"Brethren!" Leukian boomed, raising the staff high, as much a greeting as it was to show off the thing. "Good day!"

_Here we go. Maybe I could leave for a minute. Come back later. He plans to be all formal, and I'd rather have my claws pulled out backwards through my throat. Who does this? Why are you even bothering to do anything? Why are you pretending to breathe? Sure, you want to 'become a god' like Zamorak did. Do you see a god to kill and siphon off of? I don't. Correct me if I'm wrong. Unless you mean Icthlarin, by which I mean go right ahead, but if that had been your plan you would have simply done it. But from my ears, you've only been sitting around in Ardougne. Unless one's been buried there. Not that it matters. You're just here to pretend like we'll all forget about how snivelling and inadequate you are. I'm sure it will work exactly as you'd like, and not end with your throat torn out in one of our teeth._

I was already so, so tired. 

He was upon us much quicker than the rest of his entourage, and wasted no time in taking a place on the remnants of what had once been a nicely paved central circle.

"As you all should be well aware: I will lead the Ritual this year."

"Ridiculous!" Enakhra called from her corner; she and Zemouregal had apparently dispersed from their conversation. "You've not once lead. You probably don’t even remember what to do."

"That will change!" he shouted back. "I will lead this Ritual, and there will be no other after me."

Wahis passed a look in my direction as the others weighed in their loud, verbal disapproval. I was already giving him the same look, even if he couldn't see it. We'd done it enough to know.

"What is this now?" 

Azzanadra unraveled from the air mid-step, and maintained his pace as he approached the center. The low, crystalline hum of a focus pulsed into existence somewhere to my right. I thought back to the crate the knights had been pushing around yesterday.

_Zaronadra, back on the messy grind. He's still walking like the only temple left isn't a hovel in a Misthalinian-owned cave that’s more a mess than Khazard's port._

Khazard himself was busy muttering with Hazeel, who was muttering back twice as fast, with hand gestures to boot. 

_Catching him up to speed on old drama._

Leukian offered a mockingly welcome arm gesture; another excuse to flourish the Staff. "Azzanadra! How wonderful that you could join us. I think I speak for everyone in saying that, until recently, we assumed you were no longer with us."

"If any of you had been able to kill me, you would have not had to resort to deceit."

"You'd like to think that, wouldn't you. But, even if that _was_ the case, things change! I, for one, would not blame you if you decided to turn around and go home."

_I still might, personally._

Azzanadra took a long moment to look around, drawing out the presentation. "Things have clearly not changed for the _better._ How many are we? Four, six, eight. And I'm certain Sliske is in that conspicuously empty --"

I shouldered off the weave of shadow, lifted my drink in a wide greeting, and kicked my legs over one wooden arm. The gesture catapulted flecks of snow into Wahis' little group, startling several knights into realizing I existed.

_Oxen with very heavy blinders. Maybe they're there to keep them from seeing better options in life. Though, considering how many of them end up in my employ anyway, they don't exactly do a good job._

"Yes, there he is. Remarkable. Nine. Nine of us, Leukian. And here you are! Talking as if you are 'leading' something significant."

"You can look down your nose at how few we are, but come nightfall it will have all been a worthy price leading up to my inevitable ascent." He drew his over-accentuated shoulders up even further and gestured out. "No more complaints, for we are beginning now! I invite you all to pit your powers against my own. Try to have your way with those under my command, and --"

"You heard the man!" Khazard shouted with the kind of delight that burned bright in his eyes; his group howled in response, riled by his infectious bloodlust.

They took the first step, and Leukian's followers surged forward in a tempest, forcing the hands of everyone else. Sharathteerk landed with all the grace of a boulder, tearing open slit portals at Zemouregal's shouted demand, spilling out undead that easily doubled the number of heads on the plateau. A camel brayed somewhere in the mess of things, though from here I couldn't see if it was his reinforcements or Akthanakos himself.

The White Knights had charged under what sounded like Akrisae's order, and the Guardians of Armadyl under another’s, each plowing into the fray and indiscriminately fighting against anyone who looked less alive or more made of ice than they were. I watched a particular short figure in a ruddy coat dart past them, leap, kick off the head of one of Leukian's soldiers, then vanish into the center.

_I see._

Wahis had lingered behind, half to watch in resignation, half like he was looking for the best way to strike his own entrance. 

"They never listen," he commented when he realized I was staring.

"Oh no, never," I agreed. "Have you tried putting reins on their autonomy? I found that works much better. Do something right, do it yourself, all of that."

"Sliske."

I stood, halved what was left of the syrup as my eyes swam, recapped the rest, and dropped it on the center of my chair to hold the spot down.

"If it looks like I've gone too far off in my own head and end up just standing there, do come kick me."

"Gladly."

"I'll catch up to you in a moment, then."

He gave a brisk nod, went off to the right, finished sizing up entrance points, grabbed a soldier by their cuirass, and used their kicking body as leverage to get further into the fray.

I took a step forward. The more I looked, the more everyone blended in a cacophony of oil brush strokes that melted in the sun, fizzling out at the seams. It looked a bit like how I felt.

_Oh well._

I took several more steps forward, and then kept doing that; ducking beneath a sword arm, twirling around the side of someone going the opposite way, hopping across the fallen lump of a demon I had probably known at some point or another.

Khazard crossed my path with a fencer's lunge that his equipment really wasn't made for, then vanished again on the follow-through. Crimson paint splattered from that direction, staining the snow pink as it was churned in by stamping heels.

_It should really be diluting less. More? Should it be mixing in like that at all? I feel like that's not quite right. The shadows look off, too. Terrible shading work. There could stand to be more contrast. But I know how that's an odd balance to strike. It always looks different when you go back to it a month or two later and see that all you did was blend everything into obscurity._

I phased into shadow, watched a necrotic troll's arm fumble through where my torso had been/was, and resolidified on the other side as someone else caught their attention.

A sharp blast of air beat against my robes at this edge of the center; I had found my goal. It had been impossible to say for sure that it was him, seeing as he had been saying words and not making sounds like a wounded animal, but the hair and coat were unmistakably him.

I was enraptured. Pict wasn't graceful by any means; quite the opposite in that he seemed to be throwing himself through the air and hoping for the best, like a half-drowned cat trying to scale the branches of a tree.

He kept a wand clamped between his blunt teeth as he twisted, tumbling off his hands. A little drunk acrobat.

Riding the wind was a curious specialty. He'd clearly picked it for mobility's sake, and so seemed like he was well-practiced in being a distraction when forced to actually enter a fray. It was working well enough, acting as a quick little lure while others chopped down the people trying to hit him. But there was no way he would be able to keep it up, and the prospect of his body failing him crept through my mind with an old fascination.

With no small effort, I didn't let myself fixate on it just yet.

Back into the crowd; a duck past Zemouregal using someone's severed leg as a bludgeoning weapon, a narrow slide past Arrav locked in with an ice titan, a skip to the side of a sword. My fingers found their way into my threads, ticked into familiar grooves, and stretched them. A beat passed.

I tore up, the electric feeling in my arms skittering with the dulled stimulus of six others clawing their way from temporary graves, grabbing the legs of those above them, dragging them down and using them as ladders for their own surface-freedom. I disengaged from their threads, leaving them to what they knew how to do well enough, and re-wound into the seventh cluster.

Paused.

Then let the seventh cluster rest. _Later._

My fingers much more freed, I began to hunt my brother down. He wasn't hard to find, close to the marker and locked in direct engagement with an oversized glacor. Leukian stood nearby, watching the proceedings like a particularly horrid kind of art critic.

"Wahis."

A harsh breath. "Sliske."

"Until the end?"

He gave me another deft nod, and I wound new strings to my claws.

"Until the end."

Wahis and I braced together amid ice shrapnel, taking a moment to breathe the cutting air before tackling the next nuisance. The ground shook, and the world I saw shifted on its axis. I eyed around to the others to see if it physically had, and noted that no one seemed to be struggling to stand at the new angle. The rumbling, though, had definitely happened.

Leukian had summoned the Stone closer, his off-hand pressed to its surface while he held the Staff raised, gesturing ceasefire. "Enough!"

His followers disengaged, returning to their initial formation at the edge of the plateau. Zemouregal eyed him, called to Sharathteerk in one of their cypher languages, and the latter began a similar round-up.

_They use crystals, still, don't they? Embalming, the whole process. Every time I have to see how they work I feel like part of me dies from second-hand tedium._

The other stragglers - White Knights, Armadylians, Khazard's gaggle, the handful of people Hazeel apparently brought as what was, no doubt, a punishment - hesitantly followed suit, taking up awkward positions away from the center.

Soon only the eight of us stood with Leukian.

He walked a tight line, sizing each of us up. He lingered on Zemouregal for a particularly long time, the glaring similarity in their features really only visible when they were right next to each other like that. At the end he turned, took back up near the Stone, and rapped the butt of the Staff against the ground.

"So you see what my forces alone can do, now."

"We were even-matched," Akthanakos rumbled.

Enakhra gestured in agreement as she added, "And that's under a limited sample time. You are not 'demonstrating' anything nearly as well as you think you are."

"You were only just even-matched against a first wave, and that is enough for me. I myself did not even take part! But that will change, brethren. You see, when I secure my --"

_Boring._

_Boring, boring, boring._

_I should have brought something to read. There's probably time to skip out to a shop and come back._

"- those who survive may accompany on a venture that is soon to come to fruition -"

_I wouldn't miss anything at this rate. I could fetch some other things while I'm at it. Gargon wanted a souvenir. I guess I could just bring him a head from one of these corpses._

"I say we just kill him now, rules bedamned," Khazard interrupted.

"I agree, actually." Azzanadra stepped forward, adjusting his gloves. The humming I had heard on his arrival returned as a much louder drone. "The 'trial' you propose now is the majority of us against you, Leukian. Am I correct?"

Leukian adopted a more grounded stance, light gleaming in his eyes. "Against me and the Stone, yes. But do not be so cocky, Azzanadra. Close to a god you may be, but unlike me now, you do not compare to one on your own."

_Can you not hear his sugar daddy? Is that just me._

The drone was growing ever louder, but no one else had flinched.

"I think I speak for everyone in saying that this is due."

The others were on him in a moment, as if on a cue I'd missed, and if I'd blinked I would have missed even more.

They had foregone magic in favor of fists, death-holds, and teeth. Azzanadra seemed like he was vibrating, his edges fraying into a dangerous kind of soup. Wahis emerged on top for a moment, fists aflame as he hammered away on Leukian's face.

Someone kicked at the Staff, sending it skittering off the circle and into the snow near the marker. I eyed it, then Hazeel, who had been the only other one to not join in. He returned the look, then gestured to his horns with a weary expression.

"Too many cooks."

"Ah. Yes, that would be." I walked closer to him, then past, casually closing the gap between me and the Staff. "Do you mind if I...?"

"I want the top of it."

"Deal."

I plucked up the shaft, yanked the gemstone free, and tossed it to Hazeel. I did the same with the Brothers and the rest of the Staff after snapping for their attention, then tucked the six of them out of sight, into the folds of a shadow.

"A pleasure doing business, Sliske."

"I saw no business."

"Neither did I."

An enraged shout from Leukian directed my attention back. Azzanadra had drug him upright again, almost to his feet, with his claws fixed to Leukian's throat and one prominent ridge. Wahis was grappled around his torso shoulder-first, leveraging their rapid, stumbling approach to the marker.

Leukian, for all intents and purposes, spent the moments that passed before he was impaled on the marker's teeth looking very much like someone struggling under electrocution. The Stone's influence in his body took its toll no more gently than Azzanadra… Zaros's overloading did.

He growled through gritted teeth as his body was impaled, a trail of black bile oozing from between his lips, his neck straining as Azzanadra fixed his hold tighter, drew him back, and used his head as a leveraging point to force him down further.

I helped by walking up and slapping a spike-ridden arm.

The two of them drew away, straightening themselves as Leukian was wracked by a final fit of shivering, his lights flickering out in a truly unmajestic ending. His followers, who had already been restless, shouted alarm between each other; half from their leader's demise, half from the undead trolls toppling like rock sacks onto their living companions.

_He's already dead, but by all means, go ahead! Act like you're going to attack. Drag this all out so much senselessly longer._

I returned my fingers to the seventh thread cluster and pulled.

The snow shifted, groaned, then rose in sharp, clicking jerks. A hand of point-beaten metal splayed like a cat's paw, darted free, and gored the snow much like it soon would with more meat-based targets. His frost-locked ball joints visibly complained against the burial as his shoulders, then the rest of him, rose.

"Gregorovic!"

He strained against his strings, but it was only a fleeting glimpse of contest. His hideous chisel-marked face swung in my direction, harvested teeth grinding in preparation.

"Pay your dues, doctor. Clean up."

I released him as much as I cared to and watched him stand fully, unhook the glaives from his hips, and bound across the plateau towards the viscera of Leukian's forces with a shriek of abandon.

Hazeel pulled a face at me as he finished brushing snow off of Khazard, who stood with rare trained patience for the procedure.

"That might be the first time I've seen that. Thing, of yours. It's horrific."

"Isn't he? I spent two weeks on him. An overly gilded trash compactor. Absolutely terrible waste of time and I regret every second."

"Gankraui would be mortified."

"Thank you, I like to think so. I gutted one of their old statues for components. I figure it's the least they could give me."

He eyed one of my rings; I held the digit it was on up for him, umber inlaid gemstone glinting in the sun.

"Second least, then."

"Enemies close, your Praetorians closer. And I see you still keep Trindine on your middle, there."

"It's where they belong."

He shook his head and moved back into the center with Khazard. The others had remained there, now standing with the same casualness as before the Ritual as Leukian slowly flaked into ash and pooled within the bottom of the marker's mouth.

It would've been picturesque if there wasn't so much screaming. 

Maybe it still was because of all the screaming. 

_Thematic juxtaposition._

I realized Wahis was no longer standing next to Azzanadra, and turned a small circle until I spotted him near the straggling remnants of White Knights. They looked visibly unsettled, watching us as they patched themselves up. A few were keeping anxious expressions trained on Gregorovic in the distance, and I really couldn't begrudge them that at all.

The only one who still seemed to be in somewhat high spirits was an older man, whose booming voice told me this was 'Tiffy'. He didn't have a helmet, so had probably been with them long enough to not need blinders anymore.

He fetched a large pouch from their box of provisions and passed it to Wahis with a clap of his arm. I continued to watch their ranks as he made his way back to us, squinting for a ruddy coat and dark curls.

_Not there._

I continued my circle, scanning the snow until a lump caught my attention.

He wasn't far, but for all the chaos it looked like he'd gone unnoticed. Sprawled, but still moving in a slow, awkward fashion. Like he was trying to extract himself from his clothes, or bury himself.

_That coat isn't exactly thick. I'm sure he has more on under it, but I can't imagine he's sober. Frostbite still sets in quickly, doesn't it? Thirty minutes, fifteen with windchill. Hypothermia, even quicker._

_Well, we can repair any tissue damage as we go._

"Ah, good. Here we are."

I turned back to Azzanadra, who had extracted a large canister and several small ceramic cups from the pack. He poured the contents of the first - broth or tea, still hot - into one of the second, then passed the rest to Wahis, who followed suit, then passed them off in turn to Akthanakos.

Azzanadra's entire existence had been spent in devotion to form and procedure. It was one of the only things he could call an element. He employed it as he knelt, took a pinch of ash, sprinkled it into his cup, and stirred it with his smallest claw.

A string brought my thermos back to my hand, which I used in favor of a stranger's cup when my turn to collect a dose of Leukian came. I swirled the contents so the grey specks flickered, lingering traces of the Stone's amplification still playing across their surfaces.

_I got too much. Now it's going to be gritty._

I took up a spot next to Wahis, my side to his shoulder, and raised my thermos as the others raised their cups.

Azzanadra took a low breath, his cup raised last. "[We] [begin / finalize.] [As] [one of us] [embraces / joins] [the end / the long slumber] [let us also partake.] [The end / the long slumber] [is to be shared] [like] [fortune / good luck,] [and so] [we] [drink.]"

He then added a very quick "Praise to Zaros" and downed his shot.

"To hells with Zaros," Enakhra countered, similarly quickly, and downed her own. "Again."

A collective biting murmur rippled. Akthanakos took his shot and returned the cup to the pack with a long sigh. "Can we not do this here? We almost managed to last for a few hours without any sort of in-fighting."

"The whole event was in-fighting, _maardshotor."_

 _“Dard to koonet.”_ Akthanakos then diverted to the rest of us. "It was lovely to see you all again. I will look forward to a much calmer next time and I ask you to absolutely not visit me. I need to sleep for a decade or so, I think. At least a week."

He crossed his arms over his chest, unraveled into a singular point, and was gone. Enakhra followed suit without much more ceremony than a parting "Zemour, Khazard, Hazeel."

Zemouregal added his empty cup to the pile, his eyes fixed off elsewhere. I followed his gaze as I continued sipping the syrup, nose wrinkled at the sand-like gunk clustering around my hind teeth.

_Oh, I see. Your tastes haven't changed._

"Do you want to borrow him, Zemour? I wouldn't mind you taking him off my hands for a few days."

He bristled, posture going rigid as he took his eyes away from Gregorovic. "I was only observing his efficiency. Contingencies."

"Of course, of course. I understand entirely."

He held my look; I stared evenly at his nose bridge until he broke 'eye contact', snapped for Sharathteerk, and bade his own clipped farewells. They left on foot - Zemouregal much slower than usual to account for his companion - and wound a wide path around where Greg sat in his feast of carrion. 

I teased a nail along one of his strings, but only for a second.

Khazard, expression still suppressing distaste from the acrid flavor, spoke up like he'd just finished some very abrupt but methodical contemplation.

"Since he actually made the first move on breaking the agreement, does this mean Azzanadra can now be killed without consequence?"

Azzan pivoted to Khazard, shoulders square and expression cold. "I have been entombed for centuries, and attended no such agreement. If you so much as move a finger towards me I will see you evaporated where you stand, whelp."

He then paused, frowned, and glanced between the few of us that remained.

"Who is this?"

Hazeel opened his mouth, closed it, then took hold of Khazard's arm. With a bow and an "Until the next," he marched him back to their gaggle of fools.

Azzanadra looked to me and Wahis, expectant. Wahis and I looked to each other.

I put a claw to my nose tip.

His expression flattened in that classical way. "Really?"

"Yes."

"Really."

"I'm busy right now."

"Really."

"I'll bring you a whiskey."

"Two. Deal."

"Oh?"

He shook his head but resigned himself to it, leading Azzanadra off.

"I will finish catching you up."

"The two of you could stand to be more subtle."

"I don't think that's possible."

Then they, too, were gone, and I was left very acutely aware that I was the only one left. Me, and several zealots, and a dying little man who I needed to pick.

I eyed the majority of the knights who were now encircling the Stone, discussing things like "Far underground, on the other side of the continent. Maybe even further!" and whatever related notions of sending it off that they were entertaining, then turned my attention fully to Pict.

Unfortunately, so had an outlier of the knights, who had apparently seen fit to finally notice him just laying there.

I approached where three crouched over his now blanket-buried body, finishing the rest of my drink and tossing it to a string out of sight.

They didn't flinch as I drew close, though the one called Akrisae did glare up to me as he curated the grip of his healing weave.

"Your kin have all left, Mah-jerrat."

"Is that how you've been pronouncing it? I don't care, typically, because pronunciation is arbitrary so long as you get your point across. But I do love hearing how badly people mangle the word when they've only ever read it."

He blinked at me, jaw tense. "Do you need something, or are you only killing time while your unholy abomination eats?"

"Hopefully you treated my brother much more hospitably than this. I would like to know how domnul Vasović is feeling, is all. I am merely a concerned well-wisher."

"... Sure, alright, I'll pretend to believe that. He's fine. Not good-fine, but if we get him somewhere warmer quickly enough then he'll have a better chance of pulling through."

"Wonderful. I'll be taking him." I stooped down, and the knights on either side of Akrisae rose, twin sword points stopping just short of my neck.

Eye to nose bridge with the aesthetically horrific apothecary, I played a cloyingly sweet smile. "Be a good boy and step away."

His nerve held interestingly well, and he kept his voice steady. "You are worse than a demon, and I don't intend to leave you alone with anyone. Wizard Vasović may be on several wrong roads, but his soul does not deserve the condemnation your kind bring."

"Suit yourself."

Sharpened strands vivisected flesh, fixing their limbs at disjointed angles along the snow and in the air. Akrisae's neck struggled to gasp in protest, though the people nearby managed to supplement his intent just fine.

I scooped Pict up as I stood - it was easy, and given his size probably still would've been even if he hadn't been malnourished - and clipped back several layers, feeling the ghosted cut of swords descend across where I still technically stood.

I pulled Gregorovic through with me, took a moment to enjoy the shouting, then strolled down a diagonal.

* * *

## Pict

_Warm._

I opened my eyes a bleary sliver, understood in a very primal part of my brain what a butterfly felt like trying to crack out of its cocoon, and closed them again. It was bright, and there was salt in the air, and I was. Home? Felt like home. I was in a bed, I could hear the sea, and it was warm.

Boots were in the hall, then a door opened somewhere, and they came inside.

I sunk down further, suddenly uncomfortably aware of how shit existing felt. "... Jo?"

"Nah, Katrine."

"Mmn."

I heard a chair scrape as she sat down next to me. "Bet ya feel like a grave warmed over."

"Mm."

"Dunno if you remember. Someone brought ya down and left. Looked like he could be a cousin to that other old guy you hang around. Called themself Vincențiu or somethin’. Another one of your guild fucks, I'd figured. Weird eyes on 'em."

_Weird eyes. Ali- Wahis- Wahiseteel. Wahisietel. ... ?_

"Hells kinda job were you on, boy?"

"Mm."

"Take your time. Fucked up case of hypothermia, guy'd said. Lucky you're still kicking. Even more lucky Jo isn't here, otherwise she'd be having a fit on you."

"Mm." _Was cold._ I let my head poke out of the covers again, and tried to get a hold on an explanation. "Mountain."

"Mhm, go on."

"Lotta fuckers. Grey. … Crystals. Big. Massive."

"Crystals big, or the fuckers?"

A lazy grin split my face.

"Mhm, gotcha."

"'m gay."

"I know, tick."

* * *

## Sliske

I rifled through yet another box of papers, squinting at faded ink from centuries back in an attempt to both make out the date and remember what date system was even in fashion then.

_Not this one. No. Not that. Not that folder either. I still need to burn that one. I'll get to it._

Back on the shelf, down with the next.

Leaving Pict was a weighted decision, but one I'd uncertainly committed to. I knew where he was, now, and as such where he would likely be for the next good stretch of time.

What was more pressing was that his features had put an itch in my head and I needed to fix it.

And I knew very well what would fix it. I knew just a bit less well that those manuscripts had probably been buried with Senntisten. The notion that I might be wrong, and they might have survived that, pricked me on.

"Master."

"Not now."

The wight that lingered in the doorway shifted, as uncomfortable as they were allowed to be. "It’s about the rock that appeared in the tunnels."

"Come back in thirty minutes."

"I did."

I dropped the lid back on the latest box, claws scraping against the old wood. "You know how to handle cave-ins."

"It wasn't a cave-in."

"Fine."

_Oh. I see._

The Stone had embedded itself very thoroughly into a dresser that had been abandoned down this hallway at some point.

"Should we leave it here?"

I skirted around its side, weighing if they could even get close to moving it without having to inevitably scrape their preserved organs off of the wall. "No. We have an empty storage room somewhere around here, surely."

"There's one a few hallways down that you started to renovate --"

"Then collapsed over in despair until you all had to come drag me out, yes, I remember. That one should work, then I don't have to keep pretending that I’m going to finish. Find a cart around here, and some straps. Have the doctor pull it, I'd imagine he's the only one here who can on his own."

"I don't think Gregorovic will-"

"Greg is a eugenicist, which means he doesn't have rights. Thank you, off you go. Tell him to eat anyone who actually puts their hands on the damn thing, once I give his stomach back."

_But did I eat the manuscripts? I may have eaten them._

_That seems like something I would do._

**Author's Note:**

> Back on it with a better headspace/perspective on things. (10/14/20 edit, read [this](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tribs/profile) please.)  
> Started writing this ~10 days ago at time-of-posting, and wasn't actually aware that the 9th anniversary of RotM being released was on the 14th until it rolled around, so that's a very good coincidence 👏
> 
> PictCanon, no dragonkin or Elder Gods, TedTalk, etc. They can survive without the Rituals, don't have the Binary Sexes With A Side Of Child Pressure going on
> 
> Very massive thank you @The_Rolling_Tomes for help with the two (2) uses of transliterated Arabic. Enakhra says "camel man" and Akthanakos says "pain in the ass / you cause a sore ass," respectively.
> 
> [Here's some Wooden Pints for your trouble](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QjZ1B897Tuk)


End file.
